


I'm going to finish the books, I swear

by LionessOnTheThrone (Purrfect)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Books, Comfort Food, Death, Deserts, F/M, Food, Food Issues, Funny, GRRM, Gen, Ghosts, Horror, Humor, JBWeek, JBWeek2018, POV First Person, Paranormal, Pie, RPF, Real Life, Writing, frey pie, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14829284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purrfect/pseuds/LionessOnTheThrone
Summary: You are George RR Martin. You really did intend to finish your book series one day.





	I'm going to finish the books, I swear

**Author's Note:**

> Writen for this prompt. "You’ve an author of a well loved book series. Unfortunately, you die before finishing the last book; this is your quest to give your readers a proper ending." Story originally posted on my tumblr account.

As you awaken from your slumber, you stretch, and then take a glance at the clock on the wall. You notice that it’s been six hours since you’ve eaten a thing, yet you do not feel hungry. This strikes you as odd as normally you wake up every two to three hours to eat. 

Your legs are normally sore as a result of your immense weight, but now for some reason, your body feels as light as a feather. You haven’t felt this well since your days at Woodstock. You also feel more awake and alive than ever before. You decide with this newfound energy you will go on a walk. The first walk you’ve gone on in decades.

You head to the door. You quickly realize it must be jammed because it refuses to open. Before you can ponder this further, however, you hear a shriek coming from the bed. You look over at the bed. It’s your wife. She is leaning over a rather large figure and shaking them. It seems she is trying desperately to wake them. Their face is blocked from your view. You are confused. How can there be another person in the bed? You had just gotten out of the bed and you knew that although the bed was king sized it could not have fit a third person. 

You frantically try to get your wifes attention, to no avail. Finally, she moves away some to grab her cell phone off the nightstand. As she dials 911, you finally get a look at the face of the man beside her. You gasp when you see his face. For what you see is your own face staring lifelessly back at you. You are now even more confused, how can you be there when you are here? 

After a few minutes, an ambulance arrives and lifts this imposter you onto a gurney. You follow them, entering the ambulance with your wife. You try frequently to get anyones attention, all to no avail. You are starting to get angry. 

The paramedics inside the ambulance try to revive this imposter but fail to. Nothing works. 

Finally, the ambulance arrives at the hospital. By now a sickening truth is starting to enter your mind, but you refuse to entertain it. There has to be a logical explanation for all of this. 

It is not until after you hear a doctor say your name, followed by the words "Time of Death," that you accept what has happened. You are dead. 

It dawns on you all the horrible things being dead means. You’ll never get to eat another Taco. You’ll never get to see a Westworld adaptation of your characters made. Worst of all, you’ll never get to finish the world famous book series that you were writing. 

You’d loved writing those books so much. It was your escapism from the sad life you had led before hitting it big. You had lost interest in them over the past decade, preferring to write side stories or lore over the main storyline, however, you had always intended to finish them. You had several more characters that you were eager to kill off. Writing that was always the fun part. 

Luckily your books were so popular that a tv series had been adapted to them. However, this tv series did not follow the books too closely and had downright butchered some of your beloved characters.

You couldn’t stand for this. There had to be a way you could still get your books finished. What could you do?

Suddenly, it dawned on you. Possession. If ghosts were real, then possession must be too, right? 

You try with all your might, but it seems you are wrong, possession just doesn’t work, or you are too weak of a ghost to do it.

You decide since possession isn't working, you will do what ghosts are known for. You will haunt people. However, who would you haunt? Your wife hadn’t been able to see you so that obviously wouldn’t work. Since the purpose of this was to get the books finished, you decided someone involved in your writing would be the best to haunt.

You tried every one you could think of. Your agent, your publicist, your editor, even the guy who brought you coffee and donuts when you visited your editors' office that one time you had been by in the past decade. None of them could see you, not that any of them had seen you that much in the past decade anyway.

You were debating what else you could do. These books had to get finished. You were eager to see peoples mournful reactions when you killed the attempted child murderer who had become everyone's favorite. Perhaps though you’d put him through some more hardship first and have his warrior friend whom many were hoping he would leave his sister-lover for die right in front of him.

Suddenly, a delicious aroma knocked you out of your blissful thoughts of your readers heartache. Having a keen knack for telling food smells, you identified the smell as actually being two different smells. The smells of baked pie and barbecued ribs, both of which you were rather fond of.

You headed towards the direction of the smells, temporally forgetting your predicament. The smells led you to a strange open door in the middle of the street. How odd, you thought, a door shouldn’t be here. However, the smells were so tempting that you quickly forgot the oddness of this all. You looked inside the door. You could see a wide variety of food. Soups, biscuits, some meats. Most of all there were pies. A lot of pies. 

In your lust for the tasty food, you had forgotten that you were dead and therefore unable to eat. You quickly took a step through the door, eager to start shoving the delicious smelling food into your mouth. 

As you took your final step through the door you felt a great force. It felt as if you had been slammed hard into something. You suddenly felt dizzy and lightheaded. You also no longer felt as light as a feather anymore. 

You sat down in the nearest chair, confused for a second before once again the delicious aroma made you forget all else. You grabbed some unidentified meat and begin to eat it greedily.

After a moment, a serving girl came up to you in the otherwise empty room, "The guests should be arriving soon. Is there anything else I can get for you, Lord Frey?"

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed. :) If not run on by, I don't have time for negative commenters. :) And no, I won't change the tags on this, no matter how much you ask. :) Obviously, going by the kudos though some J/B shippers do have enough of a humor to appreciate this :)
> 
> for those with no humor:
> 
> Further trollish comments will cause me to bump this fic and my other fics in the jaime/brienne tag back up to the top. 1 bump per each trollish comment. If I have you blocked on tumblr, please have the maturity to respect that and don't comment, as the only reason I don't block you here is because this site has no block feature.


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